


Farewell, O Farewell

by xXxVioletSkyxXx



Series: The Mandalorian [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Force-Sensitive Din Djarin, Found Family, ManDadlorian, Post Chapter 13, Pre-Chapter 14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:21:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28693875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXxVioletSkyxXx/pseuds/xXxVioletSkyxXx
Summary: "Are you still looking for your Jedi?" Cara asked carefully, taking another sip of her drink."Yes," Din said, fighting to keep his voice level. Since his meeting with Ahsoka Tano, Din had tried avoiding thinking about it. He knew that the child deserved what the Jedi had to offer; he could be reunited with his kind. Perhaps he'd be loved, even, trained and raised away from Din.The thought was almost too much to bear; the moments he had spent with the baby on the Crest waiting for Ahsoka to return were the hardest he could remember. He had been willing to give the baby up, give him his best chance— even if it meant that Din would never see the child again.
Series: The Mandalorian [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2088117
Comments: 28
Kudos: 160





	1. One

The baby toddled over to Din, his feet silent on the grating. It had been some time since he collected his last quarry, and although Din expected to feel restless and agitated, he… didn't. The baby didn't take up much space, but the evidence of their continued co-habitation was everywhere. Din smirked at the sight of the numerous bobbles and toys scattered throughout the hold. Where blood and carbon burns might have once littered the  _ Crest's _ interior, dusty claw prints were pressed into the wall. Little fingers tracing through the dust, swirls and shapes, and Din was too endeared by them to wipe them away. He had some credits stored away, and the last time they were on Nevarro, Din found the stall that sold the blue biscuits the child loved. Before he left, he tucked the child into his satchel and turned back towards the front of the market. He remembered seeing a seamstress at the north-east corner and hoped that there was fabric for purchase.

Din turned to watch the baby as he walked, pleased at the sight of blue crumbs at the corner of the child's mouth. "How many did you eat?"

The baby quirked his head and giggled, reaching for the plush bantha he never left the ship without.

"Four? C'mon, that's enough for now," Din said, gently reached for the package of biscuits. He returned them to his utility belt, much to the child's chagrin. He ran his hand over the baby's head and felt him settle back into the satchel with few complaints. "Thanks, pal."

The baby cuddled his bantha close and looked up at Din with a smile, only lightly dusted with blue biscuit dust.

The seamstress was busy when Din arrived at their stall, so he waited patiently and looked at their wares. There were pre-made tunics, jumpers and trousers for all sorts, as well as blankets and other pieces of clothing Din couldn't identify. Din had enough for himself, his clothing was in good condition, and his skills with a needle and thread were sufficient to his needs. But the child only had one piece of clothing to call his own, and Din needed to change that.

"Greetings, traveller," the seamstress said, looking up. Her large spectacles occupied much of her small face. Her hands were hard at work, hemming a pair of trousers. "How can I help you?"

"Do you have clothing for a baby?" Din asked, pulling his satchel over his hip so the seamstress could see the child within. "What he has is not sufficient,"

"Hello there," the seamstress said with a smile. "What a small thing! What I have for an infant might not suffice, but I will show you, nonetheless. Alterations can be made, if necessary,"

"Thank you," Din said, not quite watching the seamstress as she rose from the chair to search the back of her shop. Nevarro had been cleaned up; it was far safer than it had been throughout Din's childhood in the covert. The imps were gone, the streets were bright and clean. It was the middle of the day, and the market wasn't as busy as it could've been. Din knew that he had no reason to feel uneasy, but he did. He couldn't explain it; the threat of the imps finding the baby kept him awake at night. They could be anywhere, Gideon's goons hunting the child. But it wasn't just that; the prickle on the back of Din's neck was curious, and he was unsure as to what it meant. 

He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he looked, nonetheless.

The baby made a noise of discontent, and Din looked down, unsurprised to see the child reaching up for him. He grinned, his joy hidden by his helm, and took the baby in his arms.

"No touching," he said softly. "Just look,"

Grogu settled in his arms and took hold of Din's thumb in his claws, happy to sit and watch. The baby might not have been able to see the shop in his satchel, and Din watched as the baby's eyes widened at the many colours and textures of the seamstresses' little shop.

"Here," a voice said softly, and Din looked up to see the seamstress emerging with a soft cloth bag in her arms. "These were made special, for a baby born before their time. They are as new, I hope that they will suffice,"

Din shifted the baby to his chest and accepted the package, shifting through its contents with a smile. There were nappies, soft blankets and jumpers made for a child the same size as Grogu. "These will do nicely. Thank you. How much—"

The seamstress waved a hand, dismissing him. "It has been … a long time since there have been babies on Nevarro," she said quietly, and Din shifted, pulling the child closer to him. "With the Imperial occupation, this has sat on a shelf in my shop for many years. It is time that they were used and loved by those who need them. They have no charge."

"I can pay you, whatever the cost—"

"Thank you for saving our town, Mandalorian," she said instead, pressing her hands into Din's. He was startled by the unexpected touch, but he gripped her hand all the same. "Your service is thanks enough. What you have done has not gone unappreciated."

"Than all I can offer is my thanks," Din said, tucking the clothing into the baby's satchel. "I am in need of thread, as well. And needles. These," Din said, tilting his helmet so his words struck home. "These I will pay for. Whatever the cost,"

The seamstress smiled, nodding. She turned to an alcove in the shop and pulled a small box out of a drawer. "What colours will you require? For the string?"

"Red," Din said, "and brown, the colour of sand."

The seamstress nodded, pulling out two spools of thread and a small tin of needles. She held them out in the palm of her hand, and Din shifted, taking them and slipping them carefully into his satchel. 

Din reached into his credits pouch and shifted his hand so the coins spilled into his palm. "Will this suffice?"

"It will," the seamstress said, taking the coins offered. "Will you be needing anything else?"

"No," Din said, closing the pouch and shifting the baby in his arms. "Thank you for your generosity,"

"We give our best to our children," the seamstress said softly, smiling at the baby. "Don't we?"

"Yes," Din said, smiling down at the baby.

…

He met Cara for a drink before he left Nevarro, and the longer he spent with her, the more he let his guard down. The Guild no longer operated on the planet. The bounty hunters that generally occupied the cantina were absent, replaced by soft voices and the clinking of glasses at the bar.

"You've done good work here," Din said, watching the child out of the corner of his eye. He seemed satisfied, his evening meal having been eaten with vigour, and was now sleeping in Din's arms.

"You too," Cara said with an uncommonly unguarded smile. "Your little one is happy with you,"

"Yes,"

Din rested easy in the silence, rocking the baby carefully to avoid waking him. He had learned that the child liked being held when he was sleeping, swaddled tightly with blankets and toys. Din ran a finger over the child's ear, smiling as the baby nestled closer to Din's chest in his sleep.

"Are you still looking for your Jedi?" Cara asked carefully, taking another sip of her drink.

"Yes," Din said, fighting to keep his voice level. Since his meeting with Ahsoka Tano, Din had tried avoiding thinking about it. He knew that the child deserved what the Jedi had to offer; he could be reunited with his kind. Perhaps he'd be loved, even, trained and raised away from Din.

The thought was almost too much to bear; the moments he had spent with the baby on the  _ Crest _ waiting for Ahsoka to return were the hardest he could remember. He had been willing to give the baby up, give him his best chance— even if it meant that Din would never see the child again. He felt shameful taking the baby back to the  _ Crest  _ after Ahsoka had refused, the ball of hope in his heart tightening as he cuddled the child close. He'd been avoiding visiting Tython, knowing in his gut that if the child chose another path, he'd do what the baby wanted. Din wanted nothing but the best for his child.

"It'd break his heart to leave you," Cara said carefully.

"It doesn't matter; it's what's best for him," Din said, shifting the child in his arms. The baby slept on, his body calm and still in Din's embrace. He pulled the bantha toy out of his satchel and tucked it into the child's arms. The thought of leaving the baby behind and moving on without him was too much for Din to bear. He had grown accustomed to the baby's presence, his little noises, his warm body beside Din's when he slept. The thread and baby clothes in the satchel were painful reminders that he wasn't ready to give him up, even subconsciously.

Cara didn't respond, but when she drained her glass, she stood. "The offer stands," she said, tossing a few credits onto the table. "Whenever you need it."

"I need to resume the search," Din said, feeling contrary to his words. He'd do it, even if he forced himself. The baby deserved a fuller life than Din could provide. Without the covert, the seeing stone on Tython was all he had. It was his mission, a goal to accomplish. One he'd be selfish to delay any further than he already had. "I've stayed long enough as it is,"

"Then, until we meet again," she said, offering a hand, which Din shook.

"Until we meet again,"

…

Din set the coordinates for Tython, trying not to think about it. It had been months since he had taken a quarry, and it was… unexpectedly nice to not have the thoughts of the hunt on his mind. He wasn't sure if he had left that life behind for good, but the baby was more important. He was Din's priority; whatever he needed, Din felt a deep urge to provide it.

And the baby didn't need much, but there were some things that a baby required. Things that Din hadn't thought of since he was a child, bottles and nappies and swaddling clothes. He knew that the baby wasn't truly a baby, and the things he needed were different from that of an infant. But he needed clothes for different climates, blankets for nights on the  _ Crest  _ when the heater couldn't run. He needed shoes and soap and nourishing food, things that he could provide if he knew where to find them. Not many of the markets Din and the child had walked through held appropriate supplies for a baby.

He pulled the satchel off of the co-pilot's chair and fished around for the baby clothes the seamstress had given him. He hadn't given a second thought to their accidental liberation of Nevarro, nor had he expected any of the residents to recognize him with anything other than animosity. The guilt he felt at exposing his covert dug at him; he had no way of contacting the armourer or any of his kinsmen. How many of them had survived? Had any of the foundlings died in the attack?

Heavy thoughts circulated through his mind as he pulled the soft fabric from the bag. There was more than the seamstress had told him about, Din thought with a half-smile. There were socks and leather shoes, trousers and shirts without buttons or clasps. There was even a hat, a knitted one, that Din supposed he could cut slits in to accommodate the baby's ears on colder planets.

Things, Din thought, his heart sinking. Things he could give the baby before he left him behind.

As a foundling, Din had been taught skills from every area of the covert, smelting, wood-work, cookery. No child was exempt from a lesson that could aid them in the future, and Din thanked his teachers with a small smile as he recalled his lessons in sewing.

But he hesitated, sitting sideways in the cockpit. He could set a course for Tython. It wasn't far; they'd be in the atmosphere by the morning. The baby was tired, having been up most of the night prior playing on Din's lap after his bedtime. He could give the child a long sleep cycle, drift overnight and set course in the morning?

No one would know, Din thought with a secret smile, deactivating the navcomp. He was still on his way, just taking the scenic route.

He took one last glance out of the transparisteel before opening the blast doors and descending the ladder to where the baby was.

He was still sleeping, his little hands clutching his bantha toy with abandon. Din rested a hand on the child's head and smiled before sitting down on the cot to begin his work.

The fabric was thick and tightly woven, unlikely to fray with repeated use. It had been laundered many times over the years but still serviceable. He pulled the medkit out of the locker above his cot and removed the shears, cutting the thread with his teeth before starting his work.

His red tunic was too small to be of any real use to Din and too precious to be used as a polishing rag or bandage. It was large, but it could be adjusted to fit— It suited the child, and Din was happy to repurpose it with the baby in mind.

He removed the stitches along the side hem one by one with his vibroblade, checking twice to make sure it was deactivated. The work was tedious, but as he worked, Din's mind swam with thoughts. Was he selfish to want the baby close? Was he foolish to make the child clothing with the knowledge that he preferred that dingy brown romper Din had found him in more than anything else? The baby had powers; he would do great things one day. He could become a  _ jetti, _ wield a laser sword like Ahsoka's. He could move things with his mind, and who knows what else. He had abilities that Din couldn't teach him, but Din had grown attached nonetheless. He was so small, and the part of Din that remained a lost child longed to keep him close. He knew firsthand what it was like to be left behind, and despite his best intentions, he'd lose the baby anyway. He wasn't disillusioned enough to believe that once he found a Jedi to train the child, he would still be in the picture. It was too painful to think that way, and Ahsoka had told him the dangers of a force-user having attachments. Was that all Din had become? An attachment? Something that prevented Grogu from reaching his full potential? He couldn't stand in his way; the baby deserved to thrive; to grow up and grow strong away from hunters and bounties and life on a ship. Din couldn't provide for him; he knew nothing of the  _ jetti.  _ Their ways were foreign and mysterious, but the baby would be with his kind. He'd belong, have a family that he'd remember. Maybe he'd forget Din, move on with his life. Maybe one day, he'd look back at this faded red jumper and think nothing of it, a relic of a childhood he had long since forgotten.

Maybe it was better that way, if he forgot. Din never would; the child had seared himself onto his heart. But he'd give him up, just the same, knowing that his child,  _ his  _ baby, deserved everything. He'd give him up if it meant he'd be happier and safer elsewhere.

Din ran a hand over his eyes as he swept the broken bits of string off of his knees. One side done, one more to do. He picked up the fabric and laid it over his knee, flipping the knife around on his finger before continuing. The baby was still asleep, the constant movement of the ship sending the hammock hung above Din's cot swinging. It was too painful to look, too painful to smile at the drool dripping down his chin knowing that he was on the path to give him up. Din hoped that the baby had been happy with him, had made some good memories. He wished nothing but happiness and peace on the baby, on whoever would pick up the transmission from the seeing stone. What could Din expect to find there? Would the baby know?

Din swept the little pile of string together and picked up the shears. He thought about the size of the child, wanting to take measurements without waking him. Grogu was smaller than his brown jumper, and Din was endlessly amused by the sight of the child swimming in his fabric confinement as he walked about on his tiny feet. He loved it too much to give it up completely, but with some suitable alternatives, Din thought he would be able to alter it to fit better. Perhaps he'd be more inclined to walk long distances if he wasn't tripping over the hem.

Din cared not for his physical appearance. Other than his  _ beskar'gam,  _ his flight suit, utility belt, cape and bandolier could be dinged and singed and falling apart at the seams. But as long as it was functional, Din found no reason to replace them. It was different with the child. He  _ wanted  _ the child to have things he favoured. He  _ wanted  _ him to feel happy and safe with him, comfortable in this little life they had together. He was able to provide most things the child wanted and needed, but he wanted to give the child something of his own, something he had made with his hands. When he was nothing but a fading memory, Din wanted the child to have something that he had made with love and affection in a time when the child was still his.

Maybe in Din's head, the baby would be his forever. He had said the words, called the child his own; and such words could not be taken back. Even separated, he'd be Din's  _ ad'ika,  _ and a selfish part of Din's heart hoped that he'd be the baby's  _ buir.  _

A family, together. Forever.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And that was the crux of it; the baby was a baby, and Din was still holding on, still clinging to the hope that the seeing stone on Tython wouldn't reveal anything; that the baby would be safe, and Din could keep him close. He had to, he had to, it wasn't about him. Din couldn't train the child; he would be safer with the Jedi, with his own kind. Even if that meant he'd never come home again.

Din managed to separate the pieces of the jumper before calling it a night. He folded them carefully and returned the knife and shears to their places before the kid could find them.

He yawned and reaches for the ladder to check the navcomp once more before sleep. The ship was in neutral space, deep enough in the outer rim that the risk of another ship finding them was low. It was part of the reason the _Crest_ had endeared itself to Din in the first place; staying off of the New Republic and Empire scanners kept them alive.

The baby had fallen asleep hours ago, but Din moved down the ladder carefully, his bare feet landing soundlessly in the hull. He was already in his tunic, but he tucked away his helmet and gloves in his locker before closing the door softly.

Din ran a hand through his hair and walked into the 'fresher with a strange feeling of hope in his chest. They were floating in neutral space; it would be so easy to divert somewhere, _anywhere_ but Tython. He could enter the coordinates to Naboo, Tatooine, Nevarro. He could make this night last for days, for weeks. He could stay here until he was ready to give the baby up, until he was sure that it was in the child's best interest.

He knew nothing of the Jedi; what was he expecting to find there? Ahsoka told him to find a seeing stone, and then Grogu would contact the Jedi. Was that all that it was? She had made it sound so easy.

Din dragged a hand over his face as he looked into the mirror. When the time came, could he have the courage to give the child up?

He was so small, and he was _Din's;_ the baby was his, now. The words he had spoken couldn't be unsaid; once professed, the baby was his forever. He was foolish to have pretended, to have assumed that just because the baby had nowhere else to go, he would want to stay with Din. An absence of sensible options didn't make Din his father any more than the covert was his when he was a child. He brushed his hand over his hair and left the 'fresher's light on, just in case the child was afraid of the dark.

The baby was sleeping in his hammock, his little hands clutching Din's cape like a vice. Din smiled, his face tight with unexpected emotion, and tucked the little bantha toy the child loved beside him. The hull creaked and groaned; familiar noises, but the child stirred, nonetheless. Was he afraid?

The baby turned over, his big brown eyes blinking open with little noises of unease. Din picked up the child in an instant, clutching the baby to his chest, his hand sprawled over the child's back. He didn't know how to soothe him, how to calm him; his fears were real, but the threat was low. The child didn't know that; he didn't know that the _Crest_ was old, and its sounds were to be expected. Passing debris was louder with the engine off, and the groans and clanking noises his ship made while in flight were frightening, unexpected.

His heart broke as the baby cried, his little hands clutching Din's tunic while tears spilled down his cheeks. Din ran his hand up and down the child's little back and murmured soothing words to the baby. It was nonsense, all of it; glimpses of Din's childhood, his life in the covert. He told the baby how lonely he had been, how scared he was. How afraid he was now that his parents were gone. He whispered the songs of his childhood, the strong words of the _Resol'nare,_ the tenets of what it was to be a Mandalorian. He tucked his face into the baby's and murmured his name over and over and over again. Grogu, his baby. His child, Din knew his baby's name. _I know your name as my child._ The adoption vow he had been so hesitant to perform fell off his lips like water, and Din sniffed away his tears as they fell, pouring all the love and gratitude he had into the child.

He didn't know how long they stood that way, Din clutching at the baby and the baby clutching at Din. It might've been hours, but as Din spoke, the baby settled, and that strange sense of calm settled at the back of Din's mind. It was strange, like an outside influence. Din sniffed and looked down at the baby, but his eyes were closed. Was he asleep? Had Din calmed the child to sleep?

Din moved slowly, one foot after another on the grating as he journeyed back to his cot. The baby didn't make a sound, but Din was afraid of waking him, just the same. He wished he could live a life where the child had no need to be frightened, and not for the first time, Din wished he had a covert to go back to. It had never been much, but the sewers in Nevarro had been his home. He had been safe there, and Din felt ashamed that he couldn't provide safety for his child. His profession was gruesome and often short-lived. He had never met a bounty hunter who had lived past middle age; what if he wasn't there for the child? If he gave him up to the _jetti,_ if he learned their ways and made a laser sword of his own, what if he wasn't happy there? If he wanted to come back, what if Din was gone and the baby had no one?

And that was if there were any _jetti_ left, Ahsoka had said that most of them were gone.

Din brushed his head against the child's as he sat on his cot and pulled his legs in. He hadn't given much thought to comfort when he purchased this ship all those years ago. A cot was a cot, and a flat place to sleep horizontally was all that he required. It was a tight fit now that the child slept with him, and Din moved carefully so as to not jostle the child. He had learned the hard way that Grogu was able to get his way even without exterior help, using his powers to float from his hammock onto Din's belly in the middle of the sleeping cycle. To say that he was startled was an understatement, and that had been when he had the child's floating pram. He knew that the baby slept better when Din was close, and once he settled, the baby did as well.

Din sighed and rested his head against the cot while the child rested on his belly. It was a new arrangement, but a welcome one. Space was cold, and the child was small, and Din could comfort him better if the baby was close.

Grogu yawned in his sleep and grabbed hold of the front of Din's shirt with a sleepy smile, his big ears endearingly restless. He ran a finger over the curve of the baby's head, pulling a blanket over the two of them. He'd finish the jumper in the morning, Din thought with a smile, resting a hand on the baby's back. He'd finish the jumper and trim his brown jumpsuit, and the baby could have something that Din had made. Something warm and comfortable and made with affection. Had the baby been older, Din would've preferred that he had a way to protect the baby when altercations came. He was too young for _beskar'gam,_ too young for even the training armour Din had used in the fighting corps. He wished he had a way to protect him, the sling he used for the baby when they were in markets was sufficient for peacetime, but it wasn't always peacetime.

And that was the crux of it; the baby was a baby, and Din was still holding on, still clinging to the hope that the seeing stone on Tython wouldn't reveal anything; that the baby would be safe, and Din could keep him close. He had to, he _had_ to, it wasn't about him. Din couldn't train the child; he would be safer with the Jedi, with his own kind. Even if that meant he'd never come home again.

Din shook his head as if to dispel his cyclical thoughts and closed his eyes. The baby clung to him, and Din pulled the child close as if for just a moment, he could pretend that life didn't exist outside of that moment.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din let his words hang as he closed his eyes, a flood of emotions overwhelming him. The baby could understand him; that was what those feelings were. They could finally speak to one another. He had been so jealous that Ahsoka could understand the child without effort, that she could talk to him through the force. He was the baby's father, and they couldn't speak to one another, but this stranger understood him? But now he could, he wasn't sure how he could, but he heard the child, plain as day. It wasn't with words; it was feelings; Din could feel the words in his mind. It was unlike anything else he had ever experienced, his emotions were there, but he could sense others, as well. He could feel profound loss swaddled in contentment and joy; he could feel the pain of abandonment, hunger, fear. He felt the pain the child must've felt when he was injured after the attack on Nevarro, but also an overwhelming flow of warmth and happiness.

Din awoke the next morning to silence. It was so disconcerting that the moment his eyes opened, he reached above his head for his blaster. The baby squirmed on his chest, and Din settled, the memories of the night before coming back in a wave. He had turned the engine off; they were drifting. He was safe; theywere safe.

Din smiled, running a finger along the curve of the child's ear. Grogu took hold of Din's tunic, burying his little face in Din's chest with stubborn tenacity.

"Looks like we slept late, kid," Din said, grinning. The baby squirmed and yawned, his ears twitching back and forth as he blinked his eyes awake. "I know you like to sleep, but it's time to get moving."

The baby sniffed and cooed, pushing himself up on Din's chest. A flood of warmth overwhelmed him at how precious this child had become to him, how vital to Din's happiness he had grown to be. He had taken responsibility for him, Din _loved_ him, this child he had adopted and claimed as his own.

But a sick feeling doused his joy as he looked down at the baby; they were going to Tython today.

_He could lose the baby today._

Din sat up with a sick feeling in his belly. This was for the best; this was what he was going to do, what he had sworn to do. The baby would be happy with the _jetti,_ he'd move on, and maybe one day, Din would too.

Din stood and situated the baby on the modified crate he ate most of his meals on. He had soldered some scrap pieces of durasteel into a makeshift harness for the kid. Mostly so he could eat without Din worried sick he'd fall off and hurt himself, but also so the kid could be stuck _somewhere_ for once, and Din would know where he was. Grogu didn't mind it, and so long as Din was in sight, he was happy to be stuck in place.

Din moved to the rations cupboard and cut up a piece of fruit with his knife, sitting down on a crate beside the kid as he placed it into a bowl. The rations were fresh, so Din cut them up and mixed them with some water from his canteen and the fruit. It was rudimentary, but Din remembered eating something similar when he was a foundling. Mixing the powdery taste out ration bars and adding fruit made it… good. It had been a long time since Din had considered food to be anything other than an energy source; when depleted, it had consequences. Eating was a necessary chore, but he wanted _better_ for the baby. He wanted him to have something good to eat, cut into small pieces so he wouldn't choke. Din wanted him to have healthy food, something with colour and texture that was interesting to eat, something that the kid would like. It was time he took care of himself, too. Not just for the kid's sake, but he needed to add back the kilos he had lost to injury and illness, all those years he had spent alone not thinking of anything but the next bounty.

It wasn't the nameless, faceless foundlings he was caring for now. The covert was gone, and the only mouth he had to feed was the baby's. He _wanted_ to be better for him, to provide that which he liked, to be there for him when he spoke again, to catch those toddling steps as they stumbled on the grating. He wanted to trace the baby's hands as they explored the world around them, to keep him close. Maybe if he loved him enough, the baby would be Din's forever.

The child grunted and slapped his hands on the durasteel restraint, and Din grinned, his face full of joy as he placed the bowl in the child's little claws. Din learned long ago that the child preferred to eat with his hands, so he left him to it as he reached for the red fabric once again.

His old tunic felt so comforting in a way that most objects didn't. It held _meaning;_ it was a reminder to remember. His mother and father were forgotten by all others; it was up to him to remember them. To hold their memories close and, when the time came, to pass them along.

The child was grinning, his little clawed hand clutching a handful of his meal before dipping his hand into his mouth and giggling.

Din smiled, rolling up his sleeve to rub the muck off the child's face. "Eat, _ad'ika,"_ Din said softly, gesturing to the bowl.

The baby blubbered, his mouth full of breakfast, but took another handful to his mouth without complaint.

"Good, eat your breakfast, Grogu,"

Din didn't… hesitate, exactly, to call the child by his name. It came out as a stumble, and Din didn't anticipate it to sound the way it did. The child, _Grogu's,_ ears peaked, and his whole demeanour changed from childlike wonder to immediate rapt attention. His face turned towards Din's, and his head tilted, waiting for Din to continue. How long had it been since someone had referred to the baby by his name?

"Grogu," Din said again, desperate to see the baby's reaction.

"Uh?" The baby responded, and Din chuckled. He had never wanted anything more, never wanted something so simple but to hear the baby laugh. The meal Din had prepared was being consumed, albeit messily, but the kid was _eating._ He was enjoying something Din had made for him. It didn't matter what Din did; he had proven to himself that he was capable, competent enough to care for an infant who depended on him for everything.

"C'mon," Din said softly, reaching down to pick up the child. Grogu gummed at his hand for a moment before reaching up and taking hold of Din's shoulder with sticky fingers. It was good that the seamstress had included more than one piece of clothing for the child; at this rate, he'd be doing the washing at every stop.

"Time to get changed, kid," Din said, walking the baby to his cot. Din let the baby keep himself occupied as he reached for the cloth bag. A tunic was on top, and Din pulled it out, curious about how it would clothe the child. It had buttons securing the shoulders to the chest, and Din figured it would fit the child without a struggle.

"Here," Din said, laying the tunic down on the cot for the child to examine. "I'm going to fix your jumper. Can you wear this instead?"

"Uh?" the baby exclaimed, and Din smiled, watching the child examine the article with interest.

"It's for babies," Din explained as the child ran a claw down the fabric. The child turned and threw Din a dirty look. "I know _you're_ not a baby, but it should fit you. More than this," he said, holding up Grogu's brown jumper. "I'll see if I can fix it for you, so it's not so big,"

The baby sat down with a little thump and cooperated as Din fished his arms and legs out of the jumper. Din moved with care, holding Grogu's little elbows and knees gently so as to not hurt him. It had been an accident, unknown to Din that the child was afraid of touch. And the first time Din had changed the child, he hadn't anticipated the shock of being thrown backwards in the hold several metres. He had stopped, suddenly fearful of what he had done to harm the child when hiccoughing cries echoed and the baby dissolved into sobs.

Since then, they had moved more slowly, Din asking permission before changing him, before touching him, before _anything_ ; he looked to the baby for confirmation that what he was doing was okay. They had come a long way, but Din wanted to honour the child's boundaries.

"And now, this," Din said, laying a hand on the baby's belly before pulling the tunic up and over Grogu's head.

It was soft, the muted yellow fabric thick yet flexible, and Din marvelled at just how _small_ Grogu was without his tent of a jumper. This was the first piece of clothing that the child had that fit him well. He was plumper now than he had been when Din had rescued him, but still, he was small. He looked helpless, lying beneath Din on the cot. How could this child throw grown adults and levitate stones? What else could he be capable of if he had a teacher to instruct him?

The baby cooed as Din stood silently, not… not _morose_ but thoughtful. He wasn't afraid of the future; whatever was to come was out of Din's hands. He was a father, _Grogu's_ father, and _buire_ provide for their children. He'd do whatever it took to give Grogu his best life, to give him his _best chance,_ even if it meant hardening his broken heart and moving on without the child by his side.

Din fastened the clasps with a thin smile and placed the little socks onto his clawed feet with some level of success. He reached behind the child and retrieved the blue blanket Omera had given him when they left Sorgan and tucked the little bantha toy into the child's arms.

"I'm going to work on your jumper, okay?" Din said, sitting down on the crate he had occupied the night before. "Play with your toys; I'm right here."

The baby sat up, the blue swaddle dangling off of his ear as he moved. He gummed at one edge of the blanket, the toy held fast in his arms and cooed.

"Right," Din said, reaching for the needle and thread before considering the loose pieces of cloth in his hands. He looked up and considered the child; the fabric was plentiful, and the child was small. He would be able to make more than one piece of clothing from what remained, with material to spare.

What should he make the baby?

His first thought was a jumper like his brown one, something that could serve well in various climates. The fabric was thick; it would help to keep the child warm and dry, thick enough to protect him from scrapes should he fall.

He'd need something for the cold, maybe a hood? Din considered the hood as it was, as well as the decorative breastplate. What served once could be repurposed and used again. With the child's ears, Din could cut slits and sew the hood back on.

He looked back at the baby, but he was calm and quiet, lying back against the cot with his toy in his arms. A grin pulled at his lips, but Din turned away quickly. He was making the baby clothes to say goodbye, so he could leave him something when the Jedi would come and claim him. Grogu would go to those he belonged to, and Din would move on. He would, even if he had to force himself to walk away, he would do it. He'd let them, he had to. The baby deserved more than what he had to offer.

He reached into the medicine cabinet and retrieved the shears, closing the cabinet carefully. There were so many things on the _Crest_ that could harm a baby, his razor, his kriffing _weapons_ locker, even a shifting crate could harm Grogu in ways that kept Din up at night. This wasn't a life for a child as small as him, as _helpless_ as he was. He'd worked to baby-proof what he could with what he had, but it would only have to be once, and the baby could be gone forever.

He'd give him up. He would, he had to.

Such thoughts swirled through his head as he traced one of the tunics the seamstress had given him with a knife over the red fabric. This work was unnecessary. Certainly, the Jedi could provide for their foundlings better than Din could; his skills with making clothing were rudimentary at best. But he _wanted_ to, something deep inside of him wanted to do this for Grogu, for _his_ child. He wanted the baby to have something that was his, beyond just the Mythosaur pendant. He wanted Grogu to have something that would remind him of Din after he was gone, that could bring back memories of their time together. Din hoped that the child would remember him fondly, even if he was just a blip in a lifetime as long as his.

He wished, _stars,_ he _wished_ that the covert was able to keep them safe. He wished that he had a clan to return to, a haven that he could take the child to. He mourned the memory that the baby had only been to the covert in Nevarro once; he wished that the child had the freedom to explore, to engage with others in ways that Din couldn't provide for him. The baby would've been safe there, with the other foundlings, if Din ever had to leave him.

There was just the Armourer now; she might be all that remained of his covert. If he found others—

 _No,_ he thought firmly, shutting his eyes tight. No, there was no use. A covert of Mandalorians couldn't provide for the child more than the _jetti_ could, more than Din himself could. There was only one way, one solution, one path forward. Anything else was folly. Thinking that he could keep the child beyond today was foolishness; it was his mission to return the child to his own kind. There was no mistaking the requirements to that which he had been tasked. He was unable to train him, unable to protect him. If the child was to be safe, the Jedi would have to find him, and Din would have to leave him behind. He looked down at the fabric, threaded his needle and begun. 

The seams were uneven but serviceable. They had been sewn tight, and the small little thing should fit the child much better than his jumper. It was made well, and Din was satisfied with his work. 

He'd pack a bag of the child's things, put it somewhere secure and easy to access when the _jetti_ found him. If the seeing stone on Tython was what the child needed to be safe, he'd do it. He'd do anything for Grogu.

He turned to look at the child, smiling at the baby's noises as he tipped onto his back. He was reaching for his feet as he struggled. And then, one after the other, his socks floated off his feet and fell softly on the cot.

"Is that better, _ad'ika?"_ Din asked with a laugh, a needle frozen in his hand. Grogu blubbered and giggled, his ears turned towards Din with interest.

"No socks, got it," Din said, sighing. "You still need to be able to walk, little one,"

"Uh?"

"Walk, you're growing. You need to be able to move on your own,"

_Especially for when I leave you behind._

Din turned back to the fabric, unwilling to let Grogu know he was upset. _Did the child understand what was waiting for them? Had he understood what Ahsoka had said? If he was to be trained with the Jedi, there were no attachments, no family. If he was to be safe, he'd be alone again._

A little hand touched his knee, and Din looked down with a sniff. The baby could move without making a sound, but Din wasn't afraid. The child's eyes were wide with concern, and his claws dug into Din's tunic.

"Go back to your toys, buddy," Din said, his eyes not quite meeting the baby's.

Grogu closed his eyes and extended his hand, his little body uncharacteristically still. Did the baby think he was in pain? He had only seen the baby use his powers a handful of times; he didn't want the child to exhaust himself on Din's behalf. He felt a prickle on the back of his neck, a warm presence flood his mind. It was unfamiliar, but _not,_ at the same time, and Din let himself be swept away by the slough of warmth and light as it swept through his mind.

"No, Grogu, I'm not hurt," Din said carefully, picking the child up and settling him in his arms. " _Buir_ isn't hurt. I'll be okay,"

_sad_

"No, I'm not sad," Din said, and then started. He looked down at the baby in shock. _Had he heard the baby speak?_

"Grogu?"

Buir _sad_

The baby clung to him, his claws digging into Din's tunic as he tucked himself further into Din's chest. Din wrapped his arms around the child, pulling his little body close.

"I—I'm not sad. I'm—I'm…"

Din let his words hang as he closed his eyes, a flood of emotions overwhelming him. The baby could understand him; that was what those feelings were. They could finally speak to one another. He had been so jealous that Ahsoka could understand the child without effort, that she could talk to him through the _force._ He was the baby's father, and they couldn't speak to one another, but this stranger understood him? But now he _could,_ he wasn't sure how he could, but he heard the child, plain as day. It wasn't with words; it was _feelings;_ Din could _feel_ the words in his mind. It was unlike anything else he had ever experienced, his emotions were there, but he could sense others, as well. He could feel profound loss swaddled in contentment and joy; he could feel the pain of abandonment, hunger, fear. He felt the pain the child must've felt when he was injured after the attack on Nevarro, but also an overwhelming flow of warmth and happiness.

"Is—is that you, _ad'ika?"_

The baby nodded against his chest, his body so small in Din's arms.

_love you_

Din looked up to the roof of the hold, tears welling up in his eyes. The baby was so small, but he was _Din's_ ; he was _his_ family, his clan. This presence in his mind wasn't unwelcome; it felt like coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to have happy thoughts of Grogu in a yellow sleeper, I sure did. Thank you all for the lovely responses, I am so happy to read them!!!   
> Follow me on tumblr @leiainhoth


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yes," Din said finally, his eyes not meeting the child's. "We're going to find a Seeing Stone, and you're going to contact the jetti. To find someone to train you. I—I can't. You need to find them, Grogu."
> 
> The baby looked up at Din, his big eyes full of tears. He clutched at Din's tunic with increasing tenacity, his little claws digging into Din's chest. He didn't want to go; he didn't want to leave. If it was up to Din, if he could be sure that he could protect and provide for his child, he would never take him there. He'd spend the rest of his life in dead space if it meant he'd be able to keep the baby close. He'd find a planet, make a life for the two of them. He'd find a covert, he'd give up bounty hunting, he'd do something, anything. 
> 
> But the time for alternatives had passed. Din's mission was clear, the child was to be delivered to the jetti, and he'd move on. He'd give the child up; he'd do his utmost to ensure his wellbeing. Grogu deserved more than what he had to offer; a fledgling buir with a price on his head was no father at all. He'd never be enough for the child.
> 
> stay

Din gave himself five minutes with the child, holding him tightly, letting the fledgling bond the child had created flow and ebb around them. He had to leave; they had to leave. Leaving the baby would only get harder with time, and it was past time for him to set the course for Tython. The baby would know what to do; he would contact the _jetti,_ deliver a message and be rescued. And once Din was sure that the child was safe, Din would leave his baby behind.

He wasn't sure if Grogu knew; if he expected what was to come. He had spoken to Ahsoka through their bond _,_ through the force, just the same as he had. Ahsoka would've understood; she would've told the child what was expected of him, what was to come. There was no need to scare the child, to frighten him with what was to come. It was in Grogu's best interest, and the baby would understand. One day.

Din sighed and returned the child to his cot, the baby happily gumming at the sleeve of his tunic. Din set him down, but the child squalled, his eyes wide with panic as Din took a step back.

His heart broke as the child cried, his little claws reaching for him. "I'm not leaving," Din said, his eyes closing suddenly at his falsehood, his hands flying to collect the child, to pull him close. "I'm right here; you can still see me. I need to sew your jumper; I don't want to hurt you,"

The presence butted up against his consciousness again, and Din's breath caught, a sudden onslaught of fear and anxiety flowing through his mind. The child gripped Din's shoulder desperately, his claws digging into the thick fabric of his tunic.

_leaving_

Din squeezed his eyes shut, tears escaping despite his best effort. Had the child known? Had Din told him, somehow? Was it possible that Grogu felt _Din's_ thoughts and emotions the same way that he felt the child's?

"No…no, I'm not. I'm right here, Grogu,"

_alone_

"No, you won't be alone," Din said, hoping his voice was steady and calm. He didn't want to frighten the child, didn't want him to feel the rush of upcoming loss Din himself was feeling. Din needed to be strong for him, to hold fast and remember his vows for when they landed. This was in the child's best interest; this would give him his best chance, teach him how to use his powers and grow strong in the force. He'd always been Din's child, but with the _jetti,_ he could be _safe_.

And safety was something Din would never be able to give him.

He wanted it for the baby; he _wanted_ him to grow up away from fear and desperation. He deserved friends, good food, a comfortable bed. He needed to have those around him who understood him, who knew what he needed and when he needed them. Din couldn't, he wasn't able to. He was a _beroya,_ a bounty hunter with a price on his head, and the child deserved to be safe.

"Grogu," Din said, sitting on the edge of the cot. "Grogu, we're going to Tython. Do you understand?"

_leaving_

"Yes," Din said finally, his eyes not meeting the child's. "We're going to find a Seeing Stone, and you're going to contact the _jetti._ To find someone to train you. I—I can't. You need to find them, Grogu."

The baby looked up at Din, his big eyes full of tears. He clutched at Din's tunic with increasing tenacity, his little claws digging into Din's chest. He didn't want to go; he didn't want to leave. If it was up to Din, if he could be sure that he could protect and provide for his child, he would never take him there. He'd spend the rest of his life in dead space if it meant he'd be able to keep the baby close. He'd find a planet, make a life for the two of them. He'd find a covert, he'd give up bounty hunting _,_ he'd do something, _anything._

But the time for alternatives had passed. Din's mission was clear, the child was to be delivered to the _jetti,_ and he'd move on. He'd give the child up; he'd do his utmost to ensure his wellbeing. Grogu deserved more than what he had to offer; a fledgling _buir_ with a price on his head was no father at all. He'd never be enough for the child.

_stay_

Din shut his eyes, the baby's claws clutching Din's fingers, his shoulder, anything he could reach. He couldn't open them, he couldn't look down, because if he did, _if he did,_ he'd never do it. He'd keep the baby forever. _Grogu wanted him to stay._

"I have to," Din said quietly. "I know, _kriff,_ I know."

Din blinked the tears out of his eyes as the child pulled closer to him, emoting thoughts, feelings, emotions. It was like watching a holo, but it felt so _real,_ like something he was inside of. It wasn't a conversation, but he felt like he was watching the child from _within._ Was this what the baby felt? Was this how deeply he had been hurt?

A rush of scenes past before his eyes, too quickly for him to understand. There were colours, shouts of laughter, bright lights and the sound of many people talking at once. Silence, and then darkness.

Feelings, then. _Hungry, afraid, alone,_ so many emotions at once that Din shuddered a breath and fought to maintain the connection. Was this how the baby was before he met Din?

The darkness stretched on, and Din felt the baby in his arms, the familiar weight, and he fought to focus. The baby wanted to show Din how he felt, and Din wanted to understand. He _wanted_ the baby to know that Din was right there with him, that the child's problems were his own, and nothing had to be carried alone. Grogu was so small, but his mind held more loss and sadness than Din thought possible.

_Was this what it was to be alone?_

Din felt the presence receding, but he held fast. The little tendril of love and hope that the child had extended held tightly in his mind. The baby cooed in his arms, and Din tried to tell the child in feelings how much he cared for him, how much he wanted to protect him and _provide_ for him, how happy he was that Grogu was part of his _allit._ Did the child know? Did he know how much Din cared about him?

"I—I love you, _ad'ika,"_ Din said softly, bumping his forehead against the child's. "Whatever happens, know that I love you— love you as, as your father. You're my son, Grogu,"

The baby looked up, and the connection severed. Din sniffed, unashamed and overjoyed when the baby cuddled close.

But it was too much, too much all at once, and the child's lip quivered, and quiet little sobs bounded from his throat. Din couldn't help it; he pulled him close, rocking slowly back and forth.

He wasn't sure how long they sat, pulled close to one another. He wished he could tell the child how divisive he was inside, how torn he was, how much he wished they could stay like this forever. He wanted the child to know how much he was loved. How much Din cared for him, how much he wished he was enough to be the baby's _buir._ But he couldn't, because no matter how far they ran, no matter how hard he tried, the empire was after him. Din wasn't strong enough to fight the Moff alone, no matter how good a shot he was. The baby would never be safe with him. The _jetti_ would be able to protect him. The rationale was sound, but the baby was _his_ , and as much as Din wanted the child to be protected, he also wanted him to be loved.

Would the _jetti,_ these sorcerers of a time gone by, love the baby as much as he did? Would they care for him, provide for him? Would they watch him grow with affection?

Ahsoka had told him that the _jetti_ abhor attachments; they make one weak and susceptible to the darkness. He was a child, he was a _child._ He was too small, too powerful, with too much potential. No, his mind was set. It was _set,_ and Din would do it. He'd do it, even if he didn't want to, even if the kid begged him, he'd do what the _alor_ told him to, all those months ago in the forge in Nevarro. He couldn't train him; he couldn't teach him the way of the _Mandalore._ The baby would die. He'd be given up, and Din would move on.

buir _stay_

"I can't, kid," Din said, sniffing suddenly, and letting go of the child and letting him settle on the cot. Grogu's claw caught Din's thumb and held it like a vice, and Din shut his eyes, reluctant to release him.

"I need to finish your jumper, cut slits in the hood. Then, Tython. I promised." Din said, taking a step, letting the child's hand drop.

He finished his work with a numbing sense of obligation, reaching for the supplies, cutting the thread, threading the needle. Stitching with almost a clinical detachment, as if he was creating a garment for an anonymous foundling in the covert. He hemmed the bottom of the child's brown jumper with the brown thread from the market, cutting several inches off the sleeves and hemming them as well. Perhaps he'd use the jumper as a blanket if the _jetti_ didn't have any to spare. He finished the cape and the tunic he made of the red tunic of his childhood, running his hands over the fabric before catching himself, folding them carefully and setting them aside. The bag was full, but Din removed the articles of clothing from the market and assessed them carefully, using the child's jumper as a size reference. The shoes should fit, but Din cut careful slits in the toes so his clawed feet would be accommodated, cut and restitched the hat so the child's ears could stay warm. He knew nothing of the planet of the _jetti; was_ it warm or cold? Temperate or arid? Would the child need more than what Din had provided him with?

He folded everything carefully, returning it to the cloth bag with muted detachment.

The ship was harder; there was lingering evidence of the child everywhere. The cup and plate he used sat beside Din's, the toys from the markets they visited tucked into crates, in lockers, behind the loose panel in the cockpit. The little fingerprints on the walls of the cot, the durasteel knob he loved so dearly.

Din tucked two sleeves of the blue biscuits from Nevarro into the bag and tied the Mythosaur skull pendant to the handle.

Maybe the child would remember. Perhaps he'd look back on these days with fondness, with a distant sort of attachment. He could hope for nothing; once the child was with the _jetti,_ he was unlikely to ever see him again.

But he couldn't help hoping, nonetheless.

He wished that he had more to offer the child; a bag full of clothing and biscuits would do little to keep him safe or offer protection. Grogu would need the _jetti_ for that.

But he was so small, so helpless. Still a child, and yet with powers Din couldn't begin to understand. He was never meant to be Din's forever.

It was time to say goodbye.

He took hold of the child and his big eyes and ascended the ladder, setting the navcomp for Tython.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your kind support!!! This is a necessary prelude to what I have planned (and partially written!)-- my very first AU, a partial rewrite of Mando season 2. Exploring in part if Luke's x wing just so happened to be in the system when the dark troopers arrive on Tython...  
> Follow me on tumblr @letiainhoth  
> xoxo  
> V


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